At Sam’s Club yesterday, I discovered that you can buy a 105-ounce can of tomato sauce for ONE DOLLAR AND SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS. Given the amount of time and effort expended on the pints of tomato sauce I ended up with, made from tomatoes grown in our own garden, by all rights tomato sauce should cost … Continue reading “10-15-08”

At Sam’s Club yesterday, I discovered that you can buy a 105-ounce can of tomato sauce for ONE DOLLAR AND SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS.

Given the amount of time and effort expended on the pints of tomato sauce I ended up with, made from tomatoes grown in our own garden, by all rights tomato sauce should cost at LEAST one hundred and seventy-five dollars for 105 ounces.

If I can go to Sam’s and buy that much tomato sauce for that little cash, you can bet your Aunt Fanny that I will NEVER make my own tomato sauce again. EVER. Because my time is valuable (to me, at least) and that is just some bullshit.

I don’t even CARE how those tomatoes were treated, they could have been factory-raised in substandard soil and sprayed with poison that was subsequently only brushed off before processing, they could have been mocked and abused and called names and cried silent tears of terror every night at bedtime and chomped upon by all manner of bugs before they were mercifully slaughtered and put out of their misery, for ONE DOLLAR AND SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS for a huge-ass can, I am THERE, I am buying that shit.

Which is not to say that I’m not raising tomatoes next year – you bet your ass I am, and I’ll even can them diced or crushed or even whole, but I’m totally not bothering with trying to make my own tomato sauce. My time is valuable, yo!

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So, speaking of Sam’s, I don’t think I’ve mentioned the fact that, ten years after I first got my membership (through Fred’s company, which is where I was working at the time; I still get a membership through his business) I discovered that my membership is a “Gold Key” membership. You’d think that if I have a Gold Key membership that “Gold Key” would be printed somewhere on the card, but apparently not. Apparently any membership attained through a business is considered a Gold Key membership, and you’re just supposed to know that sort of thing.

What are the advantages, you might ask, to a Gold Key membership? So far as I can tell, the one and only advantage is that Gold Key members get extended shopping hours. While the commoners have to wait until 10:00 during the week to shop at Sam’s, we high-and-mighty Gold Keyers get to begin our warehouse shopping at 7:00 if we wish. Take that, unwashed masses!

I mock, but to tell the truth, it’s pretty nice being able to go into Sam’s and shop for what I need before it gets packed and busy with people snatching up the $1.75 cans of tomato sauce and getting in my way. What’s especially nice is knowing that on Thursdays, after I’m done at the pet store, I can run over to Sam’s and get whatever I need, without having to wait until 10:00, like I’ve thought I had to do, all these years.

Sam’s might be the ruination of this nation, but GODDAMN do I love that store.

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Someone asked in my comments whether I’ve checked out the new “Real Housewives” series, this one set in Atlanta. But of course! So far I’ve caught the first episode, and I actually sent an email out about it yesterday that I’m just going to cut and paste here:

Holy COW, I finally watched the Housewives of Atlanta and I just don’t even know where to begin!

NeNe is annoying in that kind of over-the-top shrieky way, but she so didn’t deserve the embarrassment of being kicked out of a party she didn’t belong to!

Sheree is kind of super-intense in a weirdly controlled way. Which is to say that one day, that woman is going to snap, and it’s going to be NASTY. And anyone who is THAT stressed about her birthday party, when she’s supposedly got like five people who are supposed to be in charge of the details is just too much. I mean, I get that she wanted to have a good birthday party, but to apparently have SO much riding on it? What a freak. (I don’t know why she even bothered to invite NeNe, given her utter disdain for the woman!)

I agree that Kim looks a lot like Lori from OC. I suspect that her high-profile boyfriend is probably someone we’ve NEVER heard of and I bet he’s married, too, especially considering the fact that some of her girlfriends have never even met him and don’t know who he is. I like that she was loyal to NeNe and left the party with her, though.

That woman – was it DeShawn? – who hired the “estate manager” to run interference so DeShawn and her husband would never have to deal with the hired help directly just made me roll my eyes. Could you imagine if someone was coming to visit and stay with you, and the ESTATE MANAGER called them and said “Is there anything special you’d like to have available to you?” Hell, I’d be all “Yes, please make sure that I have seven pillows and some extra blankets and also THREE TINY LITTLE FLUFFY PURRING KITTENS, thank you! Also, one million dollars in cash, thanks!”

These houses are just absolutely insane. And the way these women spend money makes me worry for them, I mean it’s their money and all, but I’m thinking “NO, put the thousand-dollar pants back, you don’t need those! The money won’t last forever, girls!”

I love the way the Atlanta wives are just way over the top. I’m going to enjoy watching this show and seeing their crazy drama unfold!!!

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I was sitting on the floor of the kitten room yesterday and I leaned way over to kiss a kitten atop his head (a kitten that was in my lap, by the way!), and I got something that felt very much like a charley horse in my abdomen and I thought I was going to DIE. I had to breathe shallowly and gasp “Ohgod ohgod ohgod” very quietly so I wouldn’t alarm the kittens, and after some breathing and stretching, the muscle let up and I felt perfectly fine.

It sure did hurt like a motherfucker while it lasted, though.

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I broke the monkeys! The boys, at least. When I went into the kitten room yesterday, I’d go over and pet each of them just a little bit, and then I’d go across the room and sit on the floor and talk to them. The girls would just ignore me, but the boys would look at me and meow like “Come back here!” I’d talk and talk to them, then when they’d start to settle down, I’d go back and pet each of them juuuuust a little, just until they were starting to like it, and then off I’d go to the other side of the room.

Lem jumped down off the tree onto the condo (which is right next to the tree) and he hung out next to the condo and eyeballed me and thought about it, but refused to come any closer.

Finally, Delmar was like “FINE!” and jumped down and came over to be petted. After some petting, he and I stretched out on the floor, face-to-face, and he purred and slept a little, and then eventually Lem was like “Hmmm. He seems to be safe over there with her. Maybe I would be safe, too!”, so he came over for petting, though he didn’t stay for long.

My tongue is absolutely in shreds from my biting it so I won’t squeeze them to death. They are SERIOUSLY cute and sweet, these kittens.

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Delmar lay next to me on the floor for a long time yesterday afternoon. I said, “You’re going to break my heart, aren’t you?” and he said “That’s my plan, ma’am.”

(More pictures over at Love & Hisses.)

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Smilin’ Joe.

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2007: if you set foot in Crooked Acres, the law is that you admire not only the And3rson kitties, but also the And3rson fosters.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Pretty beach pictures!
2003: I’m afraid Miz Poo’s reign as Queen Shit may be coming to a close.
2002: Elvis sneer, zits, weird wiry hair. What next, I ask you?
2001: Cheater entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: Fascinating, isn’t it?!